Tom Savage - Mrs. John Doe

“Lucky for me that you do,” she said. “Dublin-would that be City University, University College, or Blanchett College?”

He blinked. “Um, Blanchett. And you?”

“I’m an actor,” she said, “and now I teach acting at a university in the States.” She didn’t add that she was enough of an actor to know that he’d just lied to her. He was too old to be a student, for one thing. He was in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. He was stammering, and he clearly didn’t know Dublin. There was no Blanchett College-she’d made it up on the spot and named it after her favorite movie star. The other two schools were real, but liars always went for the final choice in multiple choices. Jeff had told her that.

She gave her champion a covert once-over. Six two, lanky but powerfully muscled, strong features dominated by intelligent gray eyes, full lips and good teeth, short brown hair that came close to being a buzz cut, and a two-day shadow on his tanned skin. He had one of those Irish grins, all encompassing and startlingly masculine, and his voice was a resonant baritone. Nora the drama teacher always noticed these things. Something about him reminded her of the military. Whatever he did, she didn’t think he spent a lot of time behind a desk. Definitely an outdoors type.

“Here we are,” she said as they arrived at the Byron Hotel. He held the door for her and followed her inside. She stopped next to the bust of Lord Byron on a table in the entryway and turned to face her new friend. He looked at the bust, then up at a portrait of the poet in a gilt frame behind it. On the wall beside the print were framed poems, “She Walks in Beauty” and “So We’ll Go No More A-Roving” among them. Nora pointed to her favorite, a framed line from the play Don Juan, which was probably Byron’s most famous quotation:

’Tis strange-but true; for truth is always strange;

Stranger than fiction.

“Words to live by,” she said. “If you want to wait here a moment, I’ll ask the manager for a first aid kit, and we can do something about that arm.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “My, um, my mate has stuff back at-at his flat. He’s a med student.”

At Blanchett College? she thought, but she didn’t say it. She said, “I’m meeting a friend for dinner; she should be here any minute. Will you join us?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. He was staring past her, into the lobby. Nora turned around and looked. Wimbledon had apparently not been called for fog tonight, and there were only three people here. An elderly American couple in one corner argued over a map of England. In another corner sat a pretty young blond woman in a low-cut blouse and a short skirt, with beautiful legs crossed at the knee that ended in a pair of spiked heels. Craig was staring at the girl. Nora smiled.

“Oh, no thank you,” he murmured, tearing his gaze from the vision. “I really must be going now. Will you be all right here until your friend joins you?”

“Please don’t worry about me anymore,” Nora said. “You’ve done enough of that for one night. Thank you again, Mr. Elder the younger.” If that’s really your name, she thought.

“Well, good night, then,” he said. “And be careful.” With a smile and a last, swift glance at the fabulous legs in the armchair, he strode quickly out into the fog.

Be careful, Pal .

It was the second time in an hour that a strange man had instructed her to be careful. In the case of Craig Elder, that final warning hadn’t been the tip-off, not by a long shot. She’d begun to have her suspicions about him as far back as the park, when he appeared so conveniently to spring into action. He’d told the boy, Gary, and the security guard exactly what to do, and they’d automatically obeyed him. When the thief escaped, he’d spoken into his cellphone-but no police had arrived. Someone else, somewhere else, had been alerted. Craig Elder was not a student; Nora was certain of that. She wondered again about a possible military background. Still, all this evidence hadn’t decided it for her. It was something he’d said outside, on the way here just now: Be careful with that purse . That had been the dead giveaway.

What is it? she wondered. What on earth do I have in my purse?

“Nora, darling!”

Nora looked at the front door, and a genuine smile came to her lips. Vivian Howard was the only non-actress she’d ever met who could always make an entrance worthy of a star. She stood there in a tasteful black suit that complemented her glossy black cap of hair, an expression of concern on her handsome, immaculately painted face, holding out her arms.

“Hello, Viv,” Nora said, and the two women embraced.

“What happened to your forehead?” Vivian asked her.

Nora waved a hand in vague dismissal. “Oh, it was nothing. I stumbled on something in the fog and fell down, but I’m all right. Does it look awful?”

“No, it’s just a little black-and-blue spot. You look fine-I mean, considering. I mean- Oh, damn it, Nora, I don’t know what to say!”

Nora reached across the white linen tablecloth and grasped her friend’s hand. “Don’t worry, Viv, I’m fine. I’m just getting used to it, that’s all. It’s going to take a while.”

“You didn’t eat anything,” Vivian said. “Mrs. Tindall knocked herself out with that lovely chicken, and you barely touched it. Or the wine. Have you eaten today?”

Nora shrugged as a Tindall son-in-law arrived to clear the dinner plates from the table. “I had something on the plane. To tell you the truth, I’m more tired than anything else. I could sleep for a hundred years.”

Vivian nodded. “Yes, that’s the delayed reaction. It’s all been a terrible shock, and I’ll leave you alone just as soon as I have some coffee and get you up to your room. Do you need anything from the outside world?”

“No, I’m okay, Viv.” Nora changed the subject. “I wish Bill could have joined us for dinner, but he must be very busy with that minister guy.”

A slow, grim smile came to her friend’s face. “Is that the excuse he made? Well, I suppose he would, wouldn’t he.”

“What do you mean?” Nora asked as the waiter reappeared with Viv’s coffee and her chamomile tea.

Vivian waited until he’d gone. “I wasn’t going to bring this up tonight, not with all you’ve been through, but you’ll hear about it soon enough, so…Darling, Bill and I aren’t together anymore. We’ve been separated for about a year now. We’re in the middle of divorce proceedings. I haven’t seen him in six months We discussed your arrival on the phone last night, and he opted to meet you at the airport, so I got dinner with you at the hotel. It’s just like him to arrange a business meeting so he could wriggle out of any unpleasant explanations. He’s obviously left all that to me.”

“Oh, Viv, I’m sorry,” Nora murmured.

Now it was Vivian’s turn to wave a dismissive, carefully manicured hand. “Don’t be. First of all, you have more to be sad about than anyone at the moment, so please waste no tears on me. Besides, it’s been coming on for a long time-years and years.”

“But I always thought you were the perfect couple,” Nora said. “What happened?”

Vivian uttered a low, bitter laugh. “No, dear, you and Jeff were the only perfect couple I ever knew. As for Bill, well, it’s what happens with so many men. He turned fifty, and so did I, and all of a sudden he wanted to trade me in for a new model. So, he started driving various models round the block, as it were, kicking the tires and so forth. There were two that I know of-one of them was twenty years old!-before he met his new soulmate. That’s what he calls her, anyway. Solange-how’s that for a name? She works for him, a secretary or whatever. I understand she’s very pretty. He’s bought a big house in the country for them to live in. They’re getting married as soon as-as soon as…”